Ten Weeks
by Tallulah99
Summary: The pre-Vegas meeting of Grissom and Sara or How it All Began. GSR.


**Ten Weeks**

By: Tallulah

It was only six thirty in the morning and Gil Grissom already had a headache. He silenced the shrieking alarm clock that pounded through his skull like a sledgehammer and buried his face into the cool side of the pillow, willing in vain for the throbbing sensation in his temples to subside. Switching from night shift to day always did this to him. It would take a week or better before his body stopped protesting the sudden change.

Bowing reluctantly to the inevitable, he rolled out of the scratchy hotel sheets and planted his bare feet on the thin carpeting. He had time for a shower and a shave before he needed to be downstairs for the instructor's welcoming breakfast, though he little relished the idea. Thirty or so pompous forensic experts from all the major disciplines gathered in one room, each awaiting the opportunity to participate in a round of self-aggrandizing one-upmanship. The mfind boggled at the concept of so much ego crammed into one room.

Grissom made it to the ballroom with time to spare, but hesitated at the door to contemplate with some distaste the ubiquitous handshaking and small talk that seemed unavoidable at these academic gatherings. The dean of the program was at the podium, preparing to make a completely unnecessary introductory speech while the visiting instructors slowly made their way to their seats, hands occupied with Styrofoam cups of bad coffee and napkins full of stale pastries. Grissom grimaced at the prospect and decided to skip it.

The hotel was situated on the outskirts of the University of Tennessee campus, not far from the buildings where the classroom instruction and lab portions of the program would be taking place. The field practicums that comprised the bulk of the program generally took place off-campus, their location dependent in large part on which discipline they covered. The practicum for Grissom's own lecture series, the forensic entomology subset of the anthropology module, would be taking place at the UT's Forensic Anthropology Facility. The 2.5 acre 'body farm' was the primary reason Grissom had agreed to participate as an instructor in the National Forensic Academy training program in the first place. He had long been interested in spending time at the facility, the first and largest of its kind, and the unique opportunity to indulge in some research of his own was enough of a draw to compensate for the ten week commitment it required.

It was a pleasant day, warm for mid-May with a few lazy clouds scudding across the sky high in the atmosphere, so Grissom struck out across the campus on foot, not bothering with the rental car the NFA had arranged for him. Summer break had begun for most of UT's regular students, but there were still a few trudging figures dotting the lawns as they made their way across campus to the first class of the summer session. Grissom fell in with them, feeling slightly out of place among the young scholars. It was hard for him to believe that any of them were actually old enough to be attending college, but unless UT had a higher than average rate of prodigy enrollment, it was likely that he himself was just starting to get old.

Grissom crossed the road, jogging slightly to avoid impeding the trickle of campus traffic and immediately caught the scent of good coffee emanating from a small café in one of the campus buildings. Caffeine was a necessary vice in the life of a CSI who lived the night shift, never more so than times like now when circumstances forced an abrupt schedule change. He stepped out of the way as a preoccupied coed pushed through the door and let himself in after her.

The shop was cool and dark, as most eclectic little coffee shops tended to be, but the barista seemed to know what she was doing and the steaming cup of the house blend that Grissom accepted from the smiling girl was strong, fresh and best of all, refillable.

Holding the over-full cup gingerly in one hand while he juggled his briefcase with the other, Grissom turned to find a seat and immediately and painfully collided with the young woman behind him. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, scalding his hand and saturating the leg of his pants.

"Oh my God!" she cried, her mouth open in horror, "Oh God, I am so sorry!" She grabbed a handful of napkins from the helpful barista and then didn't seem sure what to do with them. "Um, here." She took the coffee from his hand and replaced it with the stack of napkins. "I'm really, really sorry." She sounded sincere, but there was clearly laughter behind her voice, and the dark eyes that Grissom finally became aware of through the slowly diminishing haze of pain danced with amusement. "Really," she reiterated and then she did smile as though she couldn't help it, flashing him a gap-toothed grin that did funny things to his insides.

"No, no," he replied, his mouth oddly dry. "It was my fault; I should have been watching where I was going." He stood awkwardly, holding the napkins in one hand and his briefcase in the other, not entirely sure how to proceed.

"Here," she said, placing a hand in the crook of his elbow and towing him effortlessly to an empty table, "the least I can do is help you get dried off." She glanced into the half-empty cup and gave him that mind-numbing smile again, "and get you a refill."

She returned to the counter as Grissom took stock of the mess with half of his attention while he watched the woman covertly with the other. His hand was reddening badly, but it appeared to be a superficial burn and would heal easily with no more treatment necessary than an ibuprofen or two. As he watched the woman speak animatedly to the barista, he had the absurd thought that it was going to take him much longer to heal from _her_.

She returned to the table with a full cup of coffee, a pre-emptive lid already in place, and a white bag which she held out to him. "Peace offering," she said with another wide smile. Dear God, that gap was going to be the end of him. "They make the most amazing blueberry muffins here."

"Thanks," he managed. "You really didn't have to do that though."

"I can swing ninety seven cents for a guy I just tried to parboil," she said, sitting down across from him. She had lovely chestnut hair which was pulled back into a curly pony-tail. Shorter pieces had come loose and fallen down around her face, framing high cheekbones and smiling eyes. "My name's Sara Sidle, by the way." She pulled the messenger bag she was wearing over her head and sat it on the floor by her feet. "I figure you should at least know the name of the person who completely ruins your day before 8:00am. Let me see your hand." She reached out and pulled the unresisting appendage into her own. Her hands were pale and cool as she gently examined the reddened area. Ever the investigator, he noticed that her nails were clean and well kempt, but they were short and unpainted, the cuticles slightly ragged. She was quite beautiful, he thought, but she clearly didn't put much thought or effort into her appearance. "It looks like it's just a first degree burn," she concluded. "It's probably going to hurt like a bitch for a few days, but it shouldn't scar or need medical attention." She let him have his hand back and he immediately regretted the loss of her touch, a sensation which startled and unnerved him.

"Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Sidle," he said, managing a smile, which she returned full wattage.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed suddenly, glancing at the clock on the wall above his head. "I've got to get to class!" She pushed her chair back hurriedly and snatched her bag off the floor. "Again, I'm really sorry, Mr…" She stopped and cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry; I don't think I got your name."

"Grissom," he said, "Gil Grissom, and don't worry about it. I still claim full responsibility."

"All right, Grissom, Gil Grissom," she said, again with that smile. "We'll have to agree to disagree on this one as I have _got_ to go. Being late on the first day of class is no way to impress the prof, you know?"

"Ah, no, I suppose not." He waved in return as she slipped out the door and disappeared around the corner of the building.

Of course she _would_ be a student, he thought morosely. It was bad enough that he should have such a reaction to a complete stranger, but she was practically a child. He suddenly felt embarrassed and glanced around the coffee shop as though expecting the other patrons to be giving him disapproving looks or rushing off to call campus security to report a dirty old man in _Strange Brew_. He shook his head and glanced at his watch, startled to realize he was in danger of being late for his own lecture. He gathered up his briefcase and followed the young woman's example, hurrying out the door and around the corner, trying to put the whole encounter out of his mind.

He arrived at the lecture hall with a minute to spare and took up his position at the head of the room. Looking over the assembled attendees, almost all of whom were law enforcement personnel looking to advance the forensic capabilities of their respective departments through participation in the NFA, Grissom sighed. At forty-three, he was hardly geriatric, but it depressed him to realize that of the thirty or so program participants in the room, few had even been born when he attended his first crime scene. He looked down at his notes, preparing to begin the first of the many lectures to take place over the next two and half months when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced up and met the startled eyes of his erstwhile coffee house companion, Sara Sidle, seated just off-center in the front row of the room, her messenger bag by her feet. She gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. Grissom raised an eyebrow and quirked a smile in her direction causing her to blush and drop her gaze.

He launched into his welcome speech on auto-pilot, outlining the goals of the course and his expectations for their involvement in the practicums. There was an audible sound of dismay from several of the students when he mentioned the body farm, though he was pleased to note Ms. Sidle was not among them. She sat quietly in her front row seat and watched him intently, taking the occasional note with a pen that she tended to chew on absently when not writing.

He had no idea what he was doing, paying such close attention to her. He had no business thinking about her especially _at all_. Theirs could only be a student/teacher relationship and he had an obligation to treat her the same as every other member of the class, not to mention that there was clearly a significant age gap between them. She might not be as young as some of the fresh-faced rookie's in the room, but she also couldn't be more than thirty.

Somehow he made it through the first class successfully, though in retrospect, he had no idea how. As the students made their way out of the lecture hall to head toward their next class, Grissom began packing up his own materials and switched off the slide projector he had been using to show examples of entomological activity on corpses in various states of decomposition. He realized a bit belatedly that the graphic photos may have had something to do with the pale complexions and greenish tinge many of the students were exhibiting. He shrugged inwardly; they were going to have to get used to the idea before they did their practicums out on the body farm anyway.

As the last of the class trailed past his podium on their grateful way out the door, Grissom looked up and realized that Ms. Sidle had remained behind the rest of the class. She stood by her desk uncertainly until he noticed her and then flashed him that smile which, despite himself, had already become an indelible part of his memory. He felt a small thrill go through him as she approached the podium and tried unsuccessfully to squelch it.

"Hello again," he said, "Should I chalk this up to coincidence or are you following me?"

She laughed. "I was about to ask you the same thing, though if you aren't _actually_ a forensic entomologist, you should really consider becoming one. Your lecture was fascinating."

"Yes, well you'll have to be sure to let the seven people who fell asleep halfway through know all about what a scintillating symposium they missed. No doubt they will be crushed."

She gestured dismissively at the retreating back of her dazed looking classmates. "Just wait until they encounter Nicrophorus beetles at a crime scene and can't make sense of the time line. They'll be wishing they had paid better attention then."

"No doubt their vic will be wishing the same thing," he said mildly. "I'm quite used to a lack of enthusiasm when it comes to my fascination with insects. It's not a branch of anthropology that gets much attention." He placed his slides in his briefcase and gestured for her to precede him out the door.

"But the things insect activity can tell us about a time line!" she said. Her cheeks were actually pink with enthusiasm for her subject. "Just think of how important endemism and phenology were to that Ohio case. They never would have been able to convict the perp if it weren't for the presence of nocturnal insects in the grill of his car that were native only to the western United States. I mean, how else would they have placed him at the scene of the crime?"

Grissom stopped abruptly and gave her an appraising look, "There's clearly more to you than a mere blueberry muffin aficionado. What field are you in?"

Sara blushed prettily, her pale cheeks rosy under his scrutiny. "I work with the San Francisco coroner's office," she said. "My specialty is materials and elements analysis, but I'm always looking to broaden my horizons." She gestured to the building around them, presumably to encompass the NFA as a whole. "Fortunately my superiors are a bunch of forward thinking old guys who actually encourage me to gallivant around the country to keep up with the latest developments." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Of course that could just be to keep me out of _their_ hair for a few months."

"Well, Ms. Sidle," Grissom cleared his throat, wincing inwardly at the 'old guys' remark, "I guess this means we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other this summer." He tried not let himself experience too much pleasure at the realization and failed completely.

She gave a soft laugh, "Yeah, I guess so… Listen Dr. Grissom -"

"Just Grissom is fine."

She flashed him a dimpled smile. "Alright, _Grissom_, I was wondering…" she trailed off for a moment, her expression faltering slightly. She let out a breath and went on in a rush, "I was wondering what your thoughts are on the use of potassium permanganate staining in the stead of scanning electron microscopy. I understand that it is much less expensive and a quicker method overall, but is it as reliable as scanning?"

Grissom gave her a slightly puzzled look, but struck off willingly into a comparative argument between the two processes for using fly larvae to determine post mortem interval and before he knew it, realized they had crossed nearly the entire campus. Suddenly aware that he had likely been boring her to tears for the last twenty minutes, Grissom cast a sideways glance at his protégé, apprehensive that he might be putting her off with the incessant shop talk. Though her brow was furrowed in concentration, she appeared to be engrossed in the subject rather than put off. He hated the relief that flooded through him.

"Well, Ms. Sidle –"

"Sara," she said, nudging him playfully with her elbow. "If I can call you Grissom, you can call me Sara."

He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at her teasing. "Well then, Sara. I have enjoyed the chat, but I have a mind-numbingly boring meeting to attend now, and I am sure you have other classes to get to. I will see you tomorrow?"

"Most definitely," she said with a nod. She smiled again, flashing that tiny gap between her front teeth and twiddling her fingers in parting. She walked backwards for a step or two and then turned and headed back the way they had come, glancing back over her shoulder once. Grissom had to forcibly prevent himself from twiddling his fingers back at her. It was going to be a long ten weeks.

The next morning Grissom again struck out across campus early. He had not slept well the previous night, a fact which he stubbornly convinced himself was due to his years as a night shift CSI and not at all because of the warm brown eyes and mocking smile that appeared behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. She was his _student_ for God's sake. It didn't even bear thinking about. Having feelings of any kind for her that weren't academic in nature was a recipe for disaster. He didn't have a lot of experience dealing with women period, and he most certainly didn't have a lot of experience dealing with feelings for a woman more than ten years his junior.

He ducked into the aromatic interior of _Strange Brew_ and was so disappointed not to see her there that he actually forgot to not be disappointed. He sighed and felt foolish. What had he been expecting, that she was as affected by him as he was by her? That she would be at one of the little two-person tables, waiting for him to arrive? Was he forty-three or fourteen? God, he felt like an idiot. He bowed his head and concentrated on stirring his coffee.

"Morning, Grissom!" Sara's voice was cheery and effusive as she launched herself into the seat across from him, twin white paper bags in one hand, coffee in the other. "I got you another blueberry muffin so I hope the last one actually lived up to the hype."

"Oh, hello, Ms…Sara."

Her smile faded. "I'm sorry, are you expecting someone? Or am I bothering you? I can leave, I just thought…"

"No, no. It's fine," he interrupted her quickly. "I'm just a bit out of my element when the sun's up. I'm on the graveyard shift in Vegas so I'm not exactly what you would call a 'morning person'."

"I know what you mean," Sara said, relaxing slightly. "I'm a night owl myself. 8:00 classes are not my friend." She took a sip of her coffee and smiled coyly. "It was almost enough to keep me from signing on for the entomology elective, but I'm really glad I did. The instructor is fantastic."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, but smiled slightly in spite of himself. "Flattery will get you everywhere and so on and so forth. Come on, if we leave now, we might be only a little late."

As they traversed the sidewalk to the lecture hall, chatting amiably, Grissom realized something that startled him. Yes, he was undoubtedly attracted to the lovely young woman by his side; she was beautiful, but he was also impressed and charmed by the mind behind that lively, expressive face. Her questions challenged him, her observations intrigued him. She was, in so many ways, perfect. Perfect that is, of course, except for being his student as well as thirteen or so years younger than him. His own lack of finesse in dealing with other people didn't help matters either, though when the conversation revolved around their mutual interest in the forensic sciences, he found that he was easily able to enjoy the discussion rather than tolerating it as he tended to do with most everyone else.

His lecture that day centered on the faunal succession of the necrophagous insects particularly relevant to medico-legal entomological investigations. A good third of the class was pale and sweaty by the time Grissom made it through blowflies and fleshflies and had been joined by another third of their classmates before he even started on beetles. Sara, he was once again pleased to observe, seemed not in the slightest affected by the explicit crime scene photos.

He wrapped up the class with a reminder that their practicums at the body farm would begin the following day to a chorus of groans from the majority of the students. He made a mental note to stock up on ammonia capsules. The facility was a one of a kind opportunity for research and education purposes, but even Grissom had to admit that the smell could knock a strong man on his ass.

As before, Sara held back until the rest of her queasy classmates had filed out. She had left her hair down today and it was a riot of tipsy curls that had distracted Grissom throughout the entire class with the desire to tuck them behind her ears. "So, the body farm tomorrow, huh?"

"Yes, well I tend to think the hands-on approach is best." He looked over the rim of his glasses questioningly, "not squeamish are you?"

Sara snorted in a purely unladylike way. "Not hardly, coroner's office, remember?"

"Of course," he smiled at her. "When's your next class?"

"Not for an hour," she replied with a crooksided smile, "feel like company?"

Grissom tamped down the flare of pleasure her offer engendered and reluctantly declined. "Thanks, but I have some prep to do for tomorrow's field work at the farm. I had uh, better go ahead and get started or we'll be traipsing all over the place trying to track down a specimen in the appropriate stage of decomp." He faltered slightly as her face fell, but told himself firmly that it was for the best. Extra time with her was not going to make his life any easier, no matter the enjoyment he would get out of it now.

"Okay," she replied slowly, disappointment etched on her brow. "Will I see you for coffee tomorrow morning?"

"Um, maybe," he said shortly. He packed the last of his slides into his briefcase and closed the clasps with a snap. "Enjoy the rest of your day," he added awkwardly and walked out, leaving her standing by herself in the empty room.

He berated himself as he crossed the campus alone, but he wasn't entirely sure for what. On the one hand, he was a bastard for putting her off so curtly, but on the other hand he was also a bastard for entertaining the idea of spending additional time with her at all. He couldn't win. The best thing to do, he decided, would be reassert the student/teacher boundary and keep her decisively at arms length. No more cozy tête-à-têtes in the coffee shop, no more leisurely strolls and private conversations, regardless of whether they were course related or not. No more indulging in her presence outside of class _period_.

This fervent resolution, made with the most sincere of intentions, lasted until the following morning when he strolled past the coffee shop on the way to the body farm. He abused himself mentally for a few seconds before entering, but forgot about anything else when he saw her perched alone at the same table they had shared the day before, looking incredibly beautiful and slightly uncertain, chewing on her lower lip as she absently stirred her coffee. When she saw him however, her face lit up like the sun bursting through storm clouds and he decided to hell with it and went to join her.

The session at the body farm was both fascinating and a complete disaster. Grissom went through ammonia capsules at an alarming rate and still his students were green around the gills and unenthusiastic about approaching the bodies he had earmarked for study. He was puzzled by the overall lack of excitement when he himself was nearly giddy with anticipation over each new specimen. He never would understand why so many people were put off by insect activity. What could be more natural?

Sara made him proud, as he had known she would. Her nostrils were a bit pinched and she occasionally turned aside to catch a few clean breaths, but she, along with several of the more stalwart members of the class, stayed right in it with him. She was readily able to discuss the various stages of faunal progression with both intelligence and a keen eye for detail. It would seem that someone had been studying. As the class dispersed, Grissom commented on as much and she laughed.

"Well, I don't have what one traditionally refers to as a 'social life', so I spend a lot of my free time reading forensic journals and scientific texts." She gave him a quick smile as they walked companionably through the trees back towards the main campus, "I've only recently discovered an interest in entomological studies though, so I have a lot of catching up to do."

Was she _flirting_? Grissom found himself wondering. He had thus far been reluctant to attribute any of her seemingly attentive behavior to an attraction on her part, but perhaps… No, no, he gave a mental head shake. Therein lies the way to madness, he reproved himself. If he were to allow himself to suppose a mutual interest he would be in severe danger of overstepping both his personal and professional boundaries and he was not able…or perhaps simply unwilling to take that step. When they reached the main campus, Grissom once again parted abruptly, citing paperwork that simply couldn't wait. He glanced back once as he crossed the street. Sara was still standing on the pathway to the commuter lot, a perplexed expression etched on her lovely face.

And so it went. The weeks of the training course passed far more quickly than he had ever thought possible. Though ever unwilling to acknowledge the fact, deep down he was well aware that the mere presence of the young materials expert played a significant role in his continued enjoyment of the day to day routine. Weekends he devoted fully to his own studies out on the body farm, taking complete advantage of its easy accessibility and extensive resources, but weekdays, specifically his early morning coffee run, were what he came to look forward to.

They met nearly every morning in the small café along his walk to class. Seeing her there waiting for him was the highlight of his day. He was undeniably attracted to her and was even willing to acknowledge to himself that she appealed to him in ways no other woman ever had in all of his adult years, but still he remained unwilling to move forward. He enjoyed her company and conversation, but he reminded himself daily that the end of the training program would be the end of those moments. He had a life waiting for him back in Las Vegas. It wasn't much of a life by many people's standards, but it was his and he liked it…usually. Some evenings as he lay, once again sleepless, on the lumpy hotel mattress, he allowed himself to remember how lonely his days back in Nevada were. He loved his work, it was the most meaningful thing about him, but when the sun rose and the cases were all concluded and it was time to go back to the solitary existence he lived in an apartment full of books and insect specimens, even he knew what it was to be lonely. So he advanced and then withdrew in turn, leaving himself, and no doubt his young friend, forever off balance.

The last day of the program dawned grey and rainy. Grissom was unaccountably irritable as he left the hotel and struck out into the steady downpour. It made little sense to stop at the coffee shop when he could easily take a different route that would keep him out of the rain, but even he was not so masochistic as to miss his last opportunity to enjoy Sara's company, even if it did mean showing up to class soaked to the knees. He only wondered if she would bother with stopping in herself.

He made the trip quickly, hurrying through the torrent, his umbrella doing little to protect him from the gusts of rain that blew under it. The inside of the shop was chilly, but the coffee immediately began to warm him as he situated himself facing the door at their usual table and waited for her to arrive.

The hands on the clock seemed to plot against him as they swept quickly past the usual meeting time and moved on inexorably to the moment when he would last be able to leave and still make it to the lecture hall on time. Even then he gave her a few extra minutes, figuring the students would appreciate an extra moment or two to prepare for the exam that awaited them, but finally he had to admit to himself that she wasn't coming and started gathering his things to leave, heavy with disappointment.

He reached the door just as she burst through it, panting and soaked completely through. "Hi," she said, grinning and beginning to shiver in the air conditioning. "Sorry I'm late."

"Why are you –," he began, and then realizing that she must be freezing, pulled off the light jacket he was wearing and handed it to her. "Here, it won't do much, but at least it's dry...ish."

She hesitated for a second and then took it with a grateful smile, slipping it over her sodden blouse. "Thanks. I overslept and then my car wouldn't start and then, well obviously no umbrella…it's been a hell of a last day."

"Looks like," Grissom agreed, ridiculously pleased that she had been kept away by circumstances and not choice. "I've got one we can share," he said, gesturing to his umbrella. "At least you won't get any wetter."

Sharing such a small space with her was subtle torture as they bumped shoulders continuously on their way across the campus, her hand on his arm for leverage and the sweet scent of her shampoo filling the air around them, trapped as it was beneath the canopy of the umbrella.

"So I guess you'll be looking forward to getting back to Vegas after all this, huh?"

Grissom shrugged, "It's where I've been the longest. I guess that makes it home as much as any place else." He glanced over at her, uncomfortably aware of her proximity, "I have a really good team there. You'd like them, I think. You have to be a little crazy to take on the nightshift in a town like Vegas, but I think a little bit of insanity is a pretty valuable commodity in crime scene investigation anyway."

Sara laughed. "You're lucky to have a solid team out there."

"We don't have a materials analyst," he said conversationally.

"Oh?" She replied, seeming unsure of how to take this proffered piece of information.

"So how about you?" he asked, "Are you looking forward to getting back to San Francisco?"

"I guess. I mean, I like it out there, but it's pretty clear that I've gone as far as I'm going to go with the coroner's office. One of the reasons I decided to enroll in the academy was to check out some other options. See what else is out there."

"Well, you've certainly got the aptitude to do whatever you want to do," he said. They entered the foyer of the building, escaping gratefully from the continued downpour. Grissom paused in the doorway to shake the excess water off of the umbrella. "You should consider crime scene investigation. It's a challenging career choice, but it's rarely dull and you've got quite the mind for it."

"Thanks," she replied, genuinely pleased by the praise. "Let me know if you hear of anyone who needs a materials analyst." She gave him a broad smile before turning to take her seat at the front of the class.

It struck him suddenly that he was going to miss her. Not that he hadn't already figured that out, it was just that until now he hadn't realized how _much_. A bit of dialog from _Jane Eyre_ popped into his head, unbidden, but appropriate; 'It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us. I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.' Grissom thought of the idea of returning to Vegas and going on with his life as he always had while Sara Sidle returned to her home in San Francisco and did the same, and felt hollow. It was as it had to be, but that didn't stop regret from rearing its ugly head and reminding him of all he could have had, but never would.

The exams were passed out and silence reigned over the lecture hall, interrupted only by the occasional scratches of pencil and paper as the students eked their way through the facts and figures of forensic entomology. In the meantime, Gilbert Grissom sat at the front of the room and was miserable.

Having nothing more particular to do at the moment, he took advantage of the bowed heads to focus on one in particular. Sara had bound her hair again in deference to the rain, but her thorough soaking had given her curls free reign and they rioted all over her head in a brown and gold tumble. He had inferred from their many conversations over the past months that she thought little of her appearance. How he wished he could tell her how beautiful she was. His natural reserve forbade such an overt declaration, but he willed her to know how lovely he thought she was, how brilliant and how incredibly and lamentably unattainable. The thought of going back to his empty apartment and losing the warmth she had brought into his life over the last ten weeks was immensely depressing, but she was young and had a life of her own to get back to. Regardless of whether or not she liked where she was in San Francisco, she certainly didn't need forty-three year old baggage complicating her life, no matter how she might think she felt about him.

The clock was against him once again and the last class was soon over. Students filed out of the room, placing their final exam papers on the podium, many of them relieved that they would never again have to spend another moment under the tutelage of Gruesome Grissom. Sara of course remained behind.

"So," she said, handing him her exam, "that's that."

"Indeed," Grissom said simply, steeling himself to endure these last moments.

"Listen Grissom," she began, "I just wanted to let you know how much I got out of this class," she gave him an earnest look, "really. I also appreciate the extra time you spent with me, you know, talking shop. You've really motivated me to do something new with my life and well, I've just really learned a lot."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, meaning it more than he would ever say.

Sara took a step back as if to leave and then seemed to make up her mind about something. "Look, I know you're busy and all at work and I can't imagine you have a lot of time or patience to deal with ignorant questions, but I was wondering if…maybe I could email you or something? Only if I have questions," she assured him in a rush, her cheeks stained with the hint of a blush.

"Oh, of course," he managed, "I'd really like to…stay in touch."

She smiled and quickly scribbled her information on a piece of notebook paper which she tore out and folded over before handing to him. Just this once he allowed his hand to linger over hers as he accepted the folded sheet and then tucked it into carefully into his shirt pocket. It seemed to burn on his chest with the heat of possibilities and though he tried to force it down, a small ray of hope flamed into existence and burned quietly in his heart.

She turned to go and then hesitating by the door, turned back one last time, her brown eyes shining with suppressed laughter. "Oh, by the way," she said, and her face relaxed into the gap-toothed smile that had first captivated him that day at the coffee shop, she nodded in the direction of her exam, still clutched in his hand, "I got them all right." And then she was gone.

"I know," Grissom said into the empty room.

The return to work the following Monday was both painful and a relief. His body once again violently protested the schedule change, but it felt good to walk back in the doors of the lab and see the familiar faces of his teammates and know that the coming hours and days would be filled as he caught up with ten weeks of cases and hopefully banished the memory of a certain lovely young materials analyst to the back of his mind where he could deal with it later…maybe.

His boss, Jim Brass breezed into the office he shared with his fellow CSIs and dropped a cup of coffee on his desk next to a small mountain of paperwork.

"So how was the academic life?"

"Quiet."

"So you pretty much had the time of your life then, huh?"

"It was an excellent opportunity to do some independent research on the blowfly instar paper I've been compiling. They had a recent addition to the body farm that had been left in a marsh –."

"Thanks, Griss," Brass interrupted, forestalling him with a hand. "I'll just hold off and read the paper when you're done."

"No doubt you will, Jim," Grissom said with a smile. "I'll make sure you get a copy when it's done."

"You do that. Autograph it even. I'll be awaiting delivery with bated breath. In the meantime get yourself organized and then grab your gear, we've got a 419 down Bellagio way. I thought we'd go ahead and shake the dust off and get you back up and running. We have to make sure you didn't go all soft on us, living the easy life as you were." Brass stood and headed for the door. "I'll meet you out by the truck." He stopped and turned back. "Oh yeah, before I forget, we've got a new CSI coming on board next week. Her name's Holly Gribbs and she's a newbie, fresh out of school. I was hoping you could get her started; show her the ropes, so to speak."

"Sure thing, Jim," Grissom replied and started checking over his field kit. "I'll be out in a minute."

He sorted through his supplies and made a short list of items he needed to grab from the supply closet before he left for the scene. His mind wandered as he worked and drifted inevitably back to the previous day and to the smiling girl standing in the doorway on her way out of his life. He wondered for a split second if it were at all possible that he would ever see her again and then he went to work.

AN: This was written for my lovely friend Emilie for her birthday. She requested a pre-Vegas story between our favorite geeks and this is what ended up on the screen. Happy Birthday, sweetie!


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